The squirrels!!!!!

Don’t they look cute?

This was my thought as I climbed into the squirrel’s release cage. And then locked myself in.

“Wait a minute! Hold the phone!” you say.

Okay. Let me back up a little here.

You’re wondering why I have a cage with squirrels in it. Yes, squirrels – plural. And why I would get into this cage.

Sounds crazy, right?

Then you are in complete agreement with Spider X.

So here’s the story in a nutshell. (Nope. Couldn’t help it. Too funny.)

Over the summer the Chicklets and I found 3 baby squirrels in a neighbors’ yard. One was already on the ground while the other two came flying falling out of their nest in a queen palm.

They were tiny, pitiful, and cute. Yeah, I said cute. Even after all the battles I’ve had with squirrels over my bird feeders, I still said cute.

Long story short…we contacted a wildlife rehabber who advised us on what to do. Even though we tried, the mother never returned so we decided to raise the 5-week-old furries.

Whoops. I mean, Spider X agreed to let the Chicklets and me raise the poor orphans until they are old enough to be released back into the wild when they’re 16 weeks old. As a great homeschool experience. (Whew, that was close.)

So over the past 11 weeks, my family has taken care of these 3 boys pretty much like you care for a baby. But without the diapers.

Yes, you guessed it. We’ve even kept track of their bathroom habits. Enough said, okay? You really don’t want to know that.

So with all the holding during round the clock feedings of formula, you start to get attached. Even after they get weaned you still look fondly at them hoping you won’t miss them too much when they’re released.

Really?

Which brings me back to “getting into the cage.”

So when they hit 14 weeks of age, Spider X built a sweet release cage (with help from the rest of the family). It’s 5’ x 3’ x 5’ of happy squirrel heaven. Batteries not included.

So the cage is big enough for me to stand hunched over crouched inside with a perfect little ante-room.

What’s an ante-room, you say?

Okay, it’s like this. I walk into a 2’ x 3’ x 5’ caged area, close the door and lock the slide-bolt behind me.

Definitely not for the claustrophobic. Tough-guy Spider X would be crying like a baby in there. I love you, honey!

So then I unlock the inner door that opens to the main “squirrel chamber.” This is where the furries live with hulking tree branches and their very own brand new car nest box.

So now you understand about the ante-room. It keeps the squirrels from getting out.

People too, for that matter.

So I get in the cage the other afternoon with a snack for the boys. They’d already eaten their daily veg in the morning, but we usually visit them later with some flowers to nibble.

Nibble. Let’s remember that word.

I locked myself into the ante-room and unlocked the main inner door.

In hindsight, this was my first mistake.

In my hand I had 3 chunks of rodent chow. Each one perfectly sized for a squirrel to munch for a good 1-2 minutes. I decide to stay and wait until they finish eating and then offer the big, red hibiscus they love.

Here was mistake number two. Dine and dash takes on a whole new meaning now.

By the way, are you familiar with welder’s gloves? They feel soft inside, but no sharp object can penetrate them. Spider X got me a pair last month after one of the boys got mad and tried to use his teeth as a meat cleaver on my finger.

Well, I wasn’t wearing my gloves. Yup. Mistake three.

So the boys finish their chow and return to me looking for more food. I proudly offered them the gorgeous hibiscus. They sniffed it but pushed past it to sniff the palm of my hand. Where I had previously held the chow chunks.

“Come on, guys,” I said as I put the flower on the ground. But they kept sniffing my hand.

By this time I had one boy on my shoulder and another jumped to my arm. I’m used to this. They think I’m a warm tree they can run around on for kicks.

The third guy was mesmerized by my toes which sported garnet nail polish. Possibly looking like chunks of beets. Which they eat. That’s when I started feeling nervous.

As I’m trying to keep beet-boy from getting too close to my tootsies, the furry on my arm crawled to my hand again. He was sniffing the tip of my thumb intently now and gave a soft nibble. As I’m firmly saying “No” (like this would work), he decides I must be rodent chow and chomps down hard, sinking his needle-like teeth into my thumb. “AAaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!”

Now comes the fun, fast and furious.

Chompy-boy jumps off, apparently satisfied that no, my digit is not edible. I tell my daughter, Catz, to run in the house and get me some paper towels. By now I’m bleeding quite a bit. From the hand that smells of rodent chow. And the other boys didn’t get the memo that I’m basically just MEAT!

So they’re still crawling all over me trying to get to my chow-smelling hand. That’s still bleeding.

Thankfully, Catz returns in a flash. But now we have a new dilemma. How do I get the paper towels from her?!?

“Oh Lord, please help me!!” I cry out.

Well, that sweet child figures it out and slides the towels between the top of the door and the frame. Woohoo!

But then I take stock: I’m still locked in a cage. Bleeding. With blood on the wood floor. I’m nearly doing the hokey-pokey just so a squirrel doesn’t try to taste my foot. Oh yeah, and rodents are crawling all over me.

Who doesn’t see a bad B-movie here?

So after a couple more hours minutes of the human tree lady buffet, they all ran inside their chamber and I slammed closed their door and did the only thing I had on my mind.

Escape.

By the way, my smart girl, Catz, apparently got her common sense from her daddy, Spider X. Because me walking into a squirrel cage kind of removes me from the running.